


And how you gripped my hips so mean

by TotemundTabu



Series: 30 THROBB SMUTS [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Biting, Breathplay, Cock Slapping, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom Robb Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Face Slapping, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Feminization, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hickeys, Improvised Sex Toys, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Name-Calling, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Possessive Robb, Prisoner of War, Slight Femdom, Spanking, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Surprise Sex, The dose of OOC necessary for this to happen, Top Robb Stark, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Wake-Up Sex, curse words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: This is for the anon that requested a sequel to my ROBB/THEON/JAIME threesome with BRIENNE in the bunch too :') ! I hope you will like it, anon!!





	And how you gripped my hips so mean

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks at my wife for betaing this ... monster.  
> Thank you to that poor soul of Lavi that helped me with the solution of when to place this.  
> Brienne is probably a bit off characterization, because it is not really like her to jump in foursomes, but I think I did my best to justify her curiosity and maybe why not we can have her more relaxed ;).  
> Hopefully it's a nice read!

**And how you gripped my hips so mean**

 

* * *

 

 

_Put your name deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me._

_Everybody wants to know 'bout how it felt to hear you scream,_

_they know you walk like you're a God, they can't believe I made you weak._

 

* * *

 

 

“I reckon we should just kill the Greyjoy.”

Robb turned towards Rickard Karstark with cold wrath in his eyes.

“That's an enlightening conclusion, lord Karstark. - he replied, tiredly – Unfortunately, Lord Greyjoy had been the most wonderful ally to us, informing me of his lord father's plans and helping us take Casterly Rock, so it would be really complicated for me to find a fault to condemn him for.”

“Your late father would have taken his head after lord Balon's betrayal. That was the deal.”

Theon let out a low, bitter chuckle. He then looked away, at the dark corners of the moist Riverrun walls.

The scent of sweet water sickened him.

He missed the brackish slap of Pyke's wind.

Robb almost roared then, his voice low and gritty, dark with wrath.

“I deem we should focus on defeating our enemy, not tear apart our own allies, lord Karstark.”

And then the grown man backed off a couple of steps; his eyes shone in fear, as if he saw something monstrous, but then he nodded quickly all the same, and obliged obedience, moving back.

Theon scoffed, “Stubborn northern man runs away faced by argumentation points? Unusual.”

Robb groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing.

The bags under his eyes had just gotten worse with each passing day.

He barely slept at night, which had its positive side when he woke Theon up just to fuck him, but which also had the terrible downside of making his mood perpetually ill and stingy. Plus, he started to lose his temper more often as the war proceeded upon them.

Theon, admittedly, was worried.

He was not good at showing it, but he was.

He moved to Robb, checking that nobody was seeing and closed the distance between them, brushing his lips against Robb's earshell.

“Your Grace, how can I thank you for rescuing my maidenhood?”

“Your neck, more likely. - Robb replied, letting out an amused smile and raising his eyebrows, then sighing – I don't know how to contain him anymore, he grows restless.”

“Maybe his cock stopped raising up.”

“...Theon, please, Karstark's cock is not an image I want in my head.”

His little mischievous smirk came rising on his lips.

“Would mine be better?”

“It would be a delightful alternative. - Robb admitted, chuckling, rubbing his fingertips on the map – Gods be good, I hope we all keep our cocks and our heads at the end of this fucking war.”

Theon frowned, but hid it quickly and kissed Robb's cheekbone. High, a true Tully.

He caressed the soft locks and the sideburn, “You look really handsome with them a bit longer.”

“I suppose...”, he sighed, moving them from his forehead.

Theon let his smirk turn slowly into a smile and turned Robb's face towards him, so he could see.

“Thank you... I mean it.”

Robb shook his head, “Don't mention it. He was uncalled for.”

“He was right. - he said, calmly – Your lord father would have taken my head.”

“No, he wouldn't have.”, Robb lied, chuckling sweetly.

They both knew the truth, but Robb was not ready to think any bad of his father and Theon was not ready to discuss how much in danger he would have been and was, depending on the mercy of the King.

“We still have the Kingslayer. - Theon pointed out – That has to mean something.”

Robb let out a bitter laugh, “That they'll torture us before killing us, if I don't win this damned war.”

“You will. - Theon promised, so confident for a second Robb believed him – You will win and show Sansa the head of that Imp they forced her to marry.”

Robb shook his head and sighed, remembering.

“My poor sister... I was so blind.”

“You couldn't rescue her. - Theon pointed out, correctly, but what is truth worth when demons speak loud in one's ears – You did all you could.”

“Who will marry her now? - he wondered – Now that that... - his throat clenched and the words came out dense and dark and spitted – That _beast_ put his...”, he shook his head and looked away.

Theon felt his chest clench down his heart to a pulp.

“I will.”

Robb blinked, turning, “What?”

Theon gulped dryly and the words he said burned in the back of his throat, as he breathed out, “I... will not let Sansa be alone just because those bastards tried to steal your Winterfell.”

Robb blinked, hurt and moved all the same.

The thought of Theon marrying tore him apart, it blew a burning shot of despair into him.

Especially if he did marry his sister.

… on the other side, he knew Theon didn't want to marry a non virgin – those women he used to fuck and those tavernwenches and the millerswives were good to fuck in the woods, his prick aching against boobs heavy with milk or age, but marriage, marriage was something else entirely.

And he knew Theon would have done it just to protect his sister, and in a day in which his family was being pulled and ripped apart, that little sense of safety was more than he could ask for.

“And we will find Arya.”, Theon added.

Robb nodded, weakly, staring in the void, trying to grasp and hold onto the idea that Arya could still be alive, somewhere.

The rivers seemed to cry under the window of the castle. They bellowed and he could hear his grandfather's name being spelled between round pebbles and weak waves.

“I wonder with this war, if I'll find out if I'm more of a trout or a wolf.”

“A trout, probably. - Theon replied, caressing Robb's hand gently, running his fingertips on his veins – But a wolf in bed.”

“Theon.”, Robb let out another laugh.

“Go to bed. - he said, softly – Go in your solar, sleep, I will tell your mother and uncles you need some rest, and then I'll reach you.”

“Hmm, and wake me up?”, Robb asked.

Theon smiled and perked his lips out a second before smirking again, as he often did, when he wanted to kiss Robb but it was not prudent.

At Riverrun, they barely had intimacy.

Catelyn was everywhere since she came back from her meeting with Renly Baratheon, Edmure was... needy, to be kind – a good-natured lad with a big heart but eager for glory and quick-tempered, which were all qualities Theon appreciated solely in Robb and mostly because they translated in a certain resilience and possessiveness in more private ways – and the Black Fish? Pft. He had probably guessed everything, from how he looked at Theon.

Theon could feel it.

He couldn't say if it was with rancour and worry or perhaps only envy over the youth, but he could tell when someone stared at his behind.

Between that clingy family and the lords, Robb had to make him his personal guard to allow them some time alone, and it was useless to say how everyone tried to oppose it due to his father, as if betraying his name and losing Pyke had not been enough of a sign of being trustworthy, so they spent the first nights checking on them so much that Theon couldn't even imagine doing anything.

They mostly had to steal quick kisses and rushed encounters where and when they could, in crumbs of time, like when they were young in Winterfell, frenzying over each other behind stables or deep in the night, with playful silence and pained prudence.

“Try not to give Karstark an excuse to hang you.”

“He'd kill me if I'd just steal some meat from the kitchen. - Theon chuckled, not fully joking – I'm surprised he didn't promise Alys to anyone who would stick a dagger in my back.”

Robb sighed, “I doubt he would do that.”

“You're naive.”

“By which you mean a simpleton?”, Robb asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll be at the solar as soon as I can. - he promised, brushing his hand again – Rest well, I will need your energy.”

Robb bit his lips and smiled.

“You didn't say no.”

“I didn't.”

Robb laughed, shaking his head slightly and telling himself a good hour of sleep wouldn't have hurt him.

 

*

 

“To what do I owe the kindness?”

“It's moist for me, I dare not imagine how it is for you. - Theon explained, staring down at the wet floors, damp as the whole windowless dungeons, where humidity pooled up behind the heavy doors – Kingslayer.”

Jaime raised his head, “Oh well, a wet bed brings back memories.”

Theon snorted, “Of fun ladies?”

“Of childhood and pee, more like. - Jaime snarked back, but smiled, as it was good to have a visitor, after all – How is your King doing?”

Theon sighed, crossing his arms.

“He will win this war. - he said, proud, forcing a grin on his full lips – Although, I'd be sad to see you go.”

“Why? - Jaime asked, irreverent – Seeing me in chains reminds you there is just someone lower in the hierarchy of preys than you?”

Theon rolled his eyes back and leaned on the damp floor.

“Perhaps. Or maybe it's just your sharp tongue.”

Jaime let out a proud chortle, “You remember my tongue fondly, I see.”

Theon smirked, smug, then looked at the Kingslayer in the eyes.

“I never forget a fine service.”

“Your King seem to have had.”, Jaime observed, raising his manacles in a self-explanatory gesture.

Theon looked away then, “Robb is a Stark, he is monogamous. They're not fond of... side dishes.”

Jaime Lannister let out a laugh, “And you? Would you take me for a salt wife?”

“If I remember correctly, you'd prefer to be addressed as a salt whore.”

Jaime chuckled, “Theon Greyjoy... - he shook his head slowly – Gods be good, when I'll be out of here, I may even miss you.”

“I'm moved! - Theon japed, staring at him with feline curiosity – I will miss the times where your mouth is muffled and you use it for more thrilling things than speaking.”

“How rude. You need to make your lovers feel appreciated.”

Theon breathed out, “... will your sister desist?”

“Cersei? - Jaime scoffed – She'd rather bite off her own hand than have to wave it in forgiveness. - he raised an eyebrow, confused – Why? Are you considering finding a truce?”

Theon shook his head, “It's not a matter I could discuss with you.”

“Theon...”

At that, the once heir of Pyke turned, eyes wide, blinking in surprise. Jaime's voice had been so tender for a moment, it felt unreal and impossible.

Like it was not his own.

Not a kingslayer's.

“He is tired, isn't he?”, Jaime Lannister asked.

“How would you...”

“Know how a sixteen year old feels under pressure? - he tried to smirk but his voice turned metallic – I'll give you a wild guess.”

Theon lowered his glance, still keeping his arms tight at his chest, “He's a man made.”, he lied, thinking about how his skin was soft at the hips and how his hairs kept coming because they didn't finish yet, and how a shaved beard took days to come back.

But the softness had been taken away from his face, and there he was, half a man, half a child, leading an army, with no other to see him crumble at night.

“This war has went on too long. - Jaime said, for once, reasonable and tempting for it – Let me go, I'll convince Cersei.”

“And she'll listen to you because she loves you so?”, Theon blurted out, mocking, poisonously sour.

Jaime's bottom lip quivered and he bit it.

“Like the King listens to you.”

Theon wanted to add something, but he didn't – though it was hard for him to shake away the sensation Cersei was more of a Balon than a Robb, and more a slap than a caress.

“I can't let you go, and I won't convince Robb to.”

Jaime let out a dry sob, then grinned, derisive, “What? He can't satisfy you on his own so you need to keep me close?”

Theon flinched and drew his sword, letting it clank against the prison bars. The echo of the clash rung, harsh and dark, through the wet walls.

“Speak of him again like that and you won't have a tongue to lap your sister's cunt with anymore, Kingslayer.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, “It's almost moving how ridiculously you love him.”

Theon bit the inside of his cheek and tasted the bitter iron of his own blood.

Jaime lowered his head then, “I wish you more luck than to the other king and his hopelessly devoted fool.”

Then frowned, confused by that statement, but didn't dwell further, sheathing his sword back and turning, showing Jaime Lannister his back.

“You're a funny man, Lannister. - he admitted – But even someone so smart needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut.”

“An advice I didn't expect from the Knight of Smirks. - Jaime replied, grinning, and Theon was about to turn to reply, when he continued with a mockingly sad grimace – How should I address you now, though? Ser Greyjoy? You're not technically a lord anymore, are you? But not a knight either.”

At that, Theon turned, forcing himself to smirk, but it came out tense and pulled his face up grotesquely.

“Your sister's cunt must really reek of musk, given how little you care about your tongue.”

Jamie grinned, “I was wondering, does Robb Stark count to arrive to the Iron Throne? Will you then take the white and jump on his cock all your life? That sounds like a funnier version of the Kingsguard than how I remember it.”

“You –”

The Kingslayer continued, “Maybe sometimes he'd even fuck you in his bed, instead of bending you behind the walls, of course, if his queen Frey allows him to.”

“You begged for my cock up your ass, in case you forgot.”

Jaime shut up, his cheeks flushing, probably more for the humiliation than anything else.

Theon bit his bottom lip, breathing heavily, and left the prison, with his heart pounding up his throat, hurting, deafening him.

And the hurt resounded through his ribs and jumped back in his lungs and air burnt them and there was no way out of anything like that.

It pulsed through his guts, louder and louder at each step he took further away from Jaime, until out of the dungeon, he had to lean against a column and pant to take deep breaths.

His eyes felt full and stinging but he couldn't say why, and his head rang like a bell.

“Are you feeling ill, my lord?”

He raised his eyes and saw her.

_Her_ , if one could call such a thing that. It appeared more like a mountain, wide-shouldered and big-boned, more structure than flesh on it, nose broken and big mouth.

Theon stiffened – something deep inside him trembled, up in his marrow. Ugliness made him uncomfortable.

No, further, deeper, a woman manlier than him … that was a dagger deeply buried in his stomach.

_I will not have my son bedeck himself like a whore_ , his father had said.

He cleared his voice, but it still sounded dry and fragile as thin glass.

“Is this carnival day? - he sneered – A woman? In armor?”

She seemed wounded, but not much, she backed just her head and sucked her lips. They were big, uneven, ungraceful.

She was taller than him by a good piece, which meant she was taller than Robb and the Kingslayer. Somehow that calmed his stormy heart.

Behind her, though, Lady Stark appeared, more beautiful in her age than the sure maiden tall as a tree. “This is Brienne, she was at the service of the late Renly Baratheon. - Lady Stark said, staring at him with a disgust and a superiority that drove his blood to fire, he remembered his youth, spent jerking his cock to her breast, swollen with milk, until Robb came to age and made of him the maiden – She's now sworn to me.”

“She has better taste than face, then.”

“Greyjoy!”

“Don't fret, my lady... - Brienne said, firm and yet soft, she had a nice voice, she probably would have sang well – Not for me.”

Lady Stark lowered her eyes and sighed, annoyed, “Very well. - she turned to Theon again – I planned to show Brienne the dungeons.”

“Of course, your grace. - Theon commented, licking his lips – I had to find your grace, though, accidentally, to communicate His Grace the King decided to rest for some hours in his chambers.”

Lady Stark seemed to worry, she clenched her hands but then she remembered her babe was a king now and a worried queen mother is not the appropriate image of power to give, so she nodded, “I suppose you'll guard his door.”

“As every night, my lady.”

Brienne blinked, looking at Theon; her face flushed as realization sank in, and then, inadvertently, let out the smallest “Oh”. 

Theon smirked, chuckling, “This maiden is a real knight, she has a dirty mind.”

Lady Stark stiffened, “Do not insult Brienne. She's a most valiant knight. Now, if you would please move, I'll proceed with my tour.”

“Of course, your grace.”, he said, bowing dramatically and moving up the stairs, elegant and yet somehow with an obscene smoothness.

Brienne stared at him as he left up the stairs. 

 

*

 

Robb was sleeping on his right side, curling up slightly, his head towards the window, as if he needed to absorb the light. He only had a small sheet over him for the South was too hot for him, no matter how moist Riverrun could be with its thick walls and river bend, and he had spent months sweating at night.

Theon smiled, seeing Grey Wind at the foot of the bed, wagging his tail.

“Good boy. - he whispered, caressing the wolf's big head and getting back a lick from the huge tongue – Will you be a good guard while I cuddle Robb?”

Grey Wind seemed to understand, as always, and, as Theon opened the door, he placed himself just outside it, staying sit, waiting obediently.

Theon smirked; took off his shirt and breeches and his smallclothes and raised the thin fabric of the sheet, slipping into the bed, holding Robb from behind. He held him tight, rubbing his nose against Robb's neck, hiding in his nape, behind the now long curls, smelling him. Oh, how he missed his scent on Pyke and during those days of torturing abstinence.

Theon felt his arousal stirring hard, heat pooling in his balls, heavy in need. His lips brushed on Robb's neck, kissed it, sucked it, leaving behind purple marks.

Robb shivered against him, groaning in his sleep.

Theon suffocated a moan, slipping his dick between Robb's lean thighs, big due to the new muscles, and rubbing it against Robb's balls and his hardening cock.

Theon could barely bite lips, as his hips rolled smoothly, thrusting forward and backward, his shaft brushing against Robb's, until Robb shivered and grunted, erect.

Robb's skin was ardent against his.

“My furnace.”, he whispered in a kiss, before taking both their cocks in his hands and jerking them together.

He bit Robb's shoulder, suffocating a moan into it, his hips moving faster and faster, as urge brunt through his veins, making him needy, eager.

His skin pulsed, begging to be touched, and he furrowed his eyebrows, sucking and marking Robb until he was purple, rubbing their cocks in a lustful pas de deux.

As he was close, his movements dropped any rhythm, it became erratic and fitful, and he bit harder into Robb's shoulder, whining, teary-eyed, as he felt his behind begging for an attention he couldn't give. He felt so empty, while his cock was hard and his balls tight.

“Robb...”, he sobbed, lewd.

And then a hand pushed his chest down, making him sink into the mattress, pressing on him.

Theon's eyes went wide and his dick jumped straight.

Robb raised an eyebrow, amused, staring before at his hard cock and then at Theon's.

“I thought you wanted me to rest.”

“In my defense. - Theon smirked – You were really tempting.”

“Who is the wolf, here, hm?”

“I think I'm more the bitch. - Theon sucked his lips, then glanced at Robb's shaft, wet with precome, tip lewdly shiny – Yours.”

Robb tasted Theon's voice and devotion on his tongue and bowed down to assault his plump lips, make them swollen and bruised with his kiss, pushing, biting, possessing.

His cock found Theon's hole with ease, as if it had been calling for him from the depth of Theon’s need.

Theon moaned, feeling the dull, big head pressing against his entrance.

Precome had barely ever been enough of an oil, but Theon was too desperate for it, too much. His hand moved between Robb's pillows and he raised a little bottle in the air.

Robb grabbed it, smiling into the kiss.

_You kept it in case of urgency, I see_ , he seemed to want to say, but Theon was thankful he didn't interrupt the kiss to, as Robb's tongue entered the abyss of his mouth and claimed him all, invading him fully.

The oil felt slick, warm in him, Theon arched his back, bucking his hips against Robb, inviting him, urging him. He widened his legs and entwined them behind Robb's back.

He shivered, feeling his smile against his lips, tasting his arousal in his mouth.

And with the first thrust, he broke the kiss to throw his head back and moan, desperately loud.

“Gods... - he gulped, screamed – Fuck, fuck...”

Robb smirked, thrusting, pounding into him, splitting him open, “You're swallowing me, have you missed me that much?”

Theon sucked his lips, nodding. Fire pulsed on the aching tip of his dick.

Robb's girth pulled him apart deliciously and he could feel his nerves alight with every slam.

His eyes pulled with tears, his jaw ached with shivers, as he bit his lips, trying to muffle himself, but failing; his voice would grow louder and higher each turn.

“Robb. - he hooked his nails into his back – Slow down, they will hear.”

“Let them hear, then.”

Theon wanted to slap him, why the hell was he so unreasonable as soon as his cock was insi... Theon saw sparks of electric white as Robb hit his prostate, once, twice, over and over, relentlessly, mercilessly.

His tongue fell out of his mouth, hanging open.

“I want to see if Karstark would dare threaten you again. - Robb roared, pushing through, piercing Theon with his cock – If he knew he's threatening my paramour.”

A quick smirk rose and paled off Theon's mouth, as soon moans ate it away, his cheeks flushed, his breath broke, his ass drowning Robb, begging for more, more, taking him whole. He moaned again, crying, at the slap of Robb's balls against him, while the heavy cock drilled into his sweet spot.

“Robb, Robb...”

He held Theon's cock and fisted it, bringing him to the edge, inside and outside, throwing him into the insanity of ecstasy. 

Theon squirmed, writhed, coming against Robb's cock, shivering insanely, unsure what pleasure brought him beyond.

He almost fainted, but Robb didn't allow him to, keeping him aware, fucking him through his orgasm, turning him into a mess of desire and need. Robb's growls would twist him open, the bruises he'd leave on his legs felt like rightful marks to carve into his skin.

“I love you.”, Robb sobbed, coming into Theon.

And it was so raw that it scratched his heart.

“I love you too.”, he promised, whispering, pushing himself up and kissing him, while Robb's cock softened, still inside him.

Theon panted, his eyelids heavy, half-lidded over his pupils, and smirked.

Robb bent his head to the side, sticking his tongue slightly out just to bite it and let out a small clacking sound as his tongue hit his palate. 

Theon laughed, “So. - he raised an eyebrow – What was that thing about Karstark? I thought you didn't want to think about him that way.”

“Oh, don't mock me! - Robb hid his face in Theon's armpit, kissing its gentle hair, smelling his murky, salty scent, he kissed it gently, but his voice still betrayed a certain embarrassment – I just hate that I can't protect your honor.”

“Awn. That's such a Stark thing to say.”, Theon chirped, lovingly scornful, caressing the auburn locks.

Robb groaned and breathed out into Theon's armpit.

“That tickles.”, the ironborn protested, lightly.

Robb breathed the scent in, “You smell so good.”

“Do you need to fuck me there, next time? - Theon asked, cocky, then he glanced at the door – You should have been more prudent. What if they heard us?”

“What then? You'll be my Jeremy Norridge, I'll be your Daeron.”

“How romantic. - Theon mocked – We can die horribly.”

“You can be so picky.”

“I would really like to arrive to old age.”

“I hope you will. - Robb kissed his jawline – I intend to fuck you for many decades ahead.”

“Hmm, I like the idea.”

Robb's hand caressed Theon's nipples, twisted them between his fingers, rubbed them ungracefully and absent-mindedly.

“Won't you get bored?”

Theon chuckled, “Should I?”

Robb pouted, “You and your women... how many did you fuck at Pyke?”

Theon's mind went to the captain's daughter, to her ugly mouth that felt so good around his cock, and how he filled her womb, sea foam in her gulf. Had he missed emptying himself in cunts? Or was he trying to act again like the man his father probably wanted his son to be?

He did not miss Kyra, weaselling on his cock, with her high-pitched giggles, nor the miller's wife, with her nails and her pillow boobs. Yet, he remembered their bodies, when the shadows crept to him and he wondered if really, after all, he was still a man.

“Theon?”

A sigh, “One. On the boat.”

Robb rolled down from him, showing his back to Theon, offended. Theon rolled his eyes to the ceiling, “Robb, please...”

“On the boat! - he shouted – You didn't even wait to arrive to Pyke!”

“Oh, please, you can't be jealous for real.”

“I can do what I want.”

Theon found himself remembering he was really in love with a sixteen year old. “Your Grace...”

“Petnames won't un-offend me...”, Robb said, more to convince himself to be stubborn than out of sincerity. He crossed his arms tighter, as he realized he had forgotten Theon already.

He knew him. He knew sex meant very little to him, it was the wine during a meal, fast and tasty.

He also knew how much more meaningful it was that he'd let him fuck him, that he'd let him mark him, that they exchanged love promises during coitus.

Theon kissed the freckles on his shoulders, his lips as soft as always.

And Robb shrugged slowly, accompanying his movement, as Theon held him from behind.

“I came back to you.”

“...did you fuck her on the way back?”

“No.”

Robb sighed, then his hand caressed Theon's and he held him close.

“Did she look like me?”, Robb asked, turning his neck slightly.

“Nobody looks like you.”, Theon murmured, closing his eyes and catching Robb's lips.

He tasted himself inside him and then pressed to open Robb's mouth, forcing it slightly, but then the clench of Robb’s lips melted around him, and Theon sunk softly into him.

Robb closed his eyes and rested his head in the soft crook of Theon's neck, lost in him, while Theon parted from the kiss, “I am sorry.”

The King blinked.

Theon? Sorry? About fucking?

“I am yours. - Theon confessed, eyes still closed, his voice hoarse – It's mine, I don't feel at times.”

Robb blinked, slowly, moved closer and kissed him again.

 

*

 

Brienne raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

So that was the infamous Kingslayer.

She had heard of him, quite enough, and yet she was not prepared for what she saw. Or what she heard.

“Wench! - he shouted at her – Weeench!”

He was so irritating.

She groaned, glaring at him.

He threw her an apple.

“Peel it for me, will you?”

She stared at him, speechless, “It's already a big luxury for a prisoner to have fresh food, fresh summer fruit, nonetheless, and you _complain_ about it?”

Jamie Lannister shrugged, nonchalantly, “My temporary condition won't heal my life-lasting, perpetual, intrinsic loathing of fruit skin.”

“Have you mistaken me for a maid?”, she asked, standing up from her guarding stool.

He wrinkled his nose, then pretended to think, “Usually, maids are easier on the eye.”

Brienne tried to contain herself but she couldn't keep a straight face as the anger he put in her burnt through her cheeks, making them hard and heavy as steel.

“I am not a maid and I shall not peel you your fruit, Kingslayer.”

She said it like Ned Stark did. Not like Theon.

Dense despise from a pure heart; there was no jest or tease to it.

Her spite was sheer like glass and bare like ice.

Ah, Jaime's mere naivety, he had almost started getting unused to his favourite venom.

“Someone's getting a little too familiar. - he spat – My name is ser Jaime, wench.”

“Mine is not wench. - she replied, dry, throwing him back the apple – Brienne.”

“Lady? - he scoffed, a shit-eating grin on his face – Or Ser? Would that be more to your taste?” 

He laughed, but she just looked at him as if he were pathetic.

It hurt. He wanted her attention, he wanted to play, to get under her skin.

“Do you lay with women, Brienne?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you look more like the bear than the maiden fair. - he smirked, wicked – And you served Renly Baratheon. I supposed he picked those who wouldn't force him to decline his attentions.”

Her face turned green with bile.

_Now she looks more like a Lannister,_ Jaime thought, senselessly.

She looked outraged enough, for sure.

“Renly Baratheon was a noble king, not that a kingslayer would know.”, she looked away to hide tears pooling in her eyes.

Jaime snorted, “Oh, gods, wouldn't I know how noble kings can be?”

Brienne frowned and forced the big tears back as she could, before turning, sever and dark, towards that golden thorn. How she missed the never-hers golden rose, instead.

“A man who violates his own sister and cripples a child and forsakes all his vows should surely have enough decency not to stain the name of the noble ones.”

“Stain names? With words? Oh, gods, is reputation such an important matter? - he grinned – Not that I would know, never had much of one.”

She closed her eyelids while her eyes rolled back through her skulls, desperate to find peace, somewhere, there must have been a place in her head without that little annoying voice tormenting her grieving heart and what was that sound now? She turned to find him trying to scratch the apple peel off.

She frowned.

Spoiled son of spoiled Tywin Lannister.

“Give me. - she said, moving her hand towards him – The sound irritates me.”

He looked at her a long while, then gave her the apple in one swift motion.

“Do you expect me to thank you?”

“I don't expect anything from you. - she replied – Though silence would be nice.”

He sat down in the cell, resting with his back against the moist stones, looking at the musk running on them; he could hear droplets of water, but couldn't see where the sound was coming from. The wench was taking a long time in peeling his apple with the dagger, Jaime could tell she was not used to such civilized practices and found her barbaric attitude almost amusing.

He tried to imagine her wearing one of Cersei's silk gowns and how weird it would have looked on her disproportioned body. But as he met her eyes, he realized in horror that he thought he had never seen a silk with a blue prettier and deeper than that of her eyes. 

He blamed a fever, laying his head against the wall.

Behind his eyes, dreams started emerging from a foggy, thick darkness like swamp waters, and they crawled to his mind with the stench of illusion dragging him in. Tyrion's wail, his cries, a face scratched. He tried to speak to him, but no voice came out and as he moved to caress his head, he found he had no hands. He had feet for them. Cersei's feet, he realized. He knew. It made sense to him for a moment and yet it terrified him all the same.

He woke up in an instant, puking all over the floor.

He heard the wench stand up and move back, as if she had never seen vomit in her life, and the chair she was sitting on fell on the ground, hit by her backing foot.

Jaime glanced at hers. They were big, even for someone so tall. Cersei had small feet, delicate arum lilies, pale as moonlight.

She moved to him and he raised his eyes from her feet.

Gosh, she was ugly.

“Ser Jaime. - she asked, worry in her pitch, then, as she caught herself – Kingslayer, do you feel ill?”

He shook his head slowly, but she put a hand to his forehead and let out a low gasp.

“You do need assistance from a maister.”

“My apple.”

“I do not deem it the most important task at the given moment.”

Jaime snapped, “You're quite inefficient, both as a guard and as a page. No wonder Renly died, when you can't peel a damn apple.”

Her eyes burnt.

Jaime saw it and moved his glance away.

He felt the apple in his hands, dropped, while the wench went up the stairs of the dungeon, trying to find a maister, for sure. He passed the apple between his dirty fingers, staring at it getting from white to golden, where once the red, thick, sweet skin was.

Cersei hated the peel, he thought with tenderness, and he'd eat it like her.

He bit into it, wrinkling his nose as he tasted the quickly dry surface of the fruit.

He missed her more than himself, somehow still, despite everything.

 

*

 

“You must have been the most horrible child.”, Theon Greyjoy told him, snickering.

Jaime opened his eyes slowly, seeing him surprised him, and it took him a moment to realize they were without bars in between, that they shared a space. He looked around: a bed, he was laying on a real bed, but as he moved he felt manacles in his flesh and saw chairs that tied his right wrist to the furniture.

Theon Greyjoy was sitting on a chair in front of him, he had his legs open, but kept one ankle laying atop the other knee, as some pirates used to do, but as Jaime didn't remember him doing before. He probably picked it up at Pyke.

“You inconvenienced Lady Brienne over an apple.”, Theon concluded, amused.

Jaime showed him a grin, “You must have been the type of child who steals his brothers' toys all the time.”

Theon froze at the mention. He swallowed hard and dry.

His brothers.

He was their toy.

He let out a metallic chuckle, “I'll let you know I was the most well-mannered and the most lovely of my father's children, sons and daughter both.”

Meek, shy, afraid – that's what he had been. But he did not plan to say that to Jamie.

He, with time, had become enough like his uncle Aeron used to be to allow himself to pretend that's all he had even been.

“Your brothers then must have been awful even for the ironborn standards.”

“No doubt on that.”, Theon smirked, looking at Jaime lasciviously.

Jaime gave him a lopsided smile, “Missing me?”

“Not missing. - Theon said, sincerely for once, but still sensual, passing his slow fingertips on the tied wrist and arm Jamie Lannister has stuck on the bedhead – But not against another taste.”

“Does your pup agree?”

“I don't remember you regarding him as a pup, last time.”, Theon pointed out.

Jaime shivered, remembering the Young Wolf's cock as it fucked him. His eyes, then, glanced at Greyjoy's crotch and he remembered that too. Jaime Lannister felt his ass empty, and licked his lips, pulling the bottom one with his pointy canine teeth, contemplating the idea of...

Theon gave a smug smirk.

His voice was arrogance dressed in desire, and Jaime wouldn’t ask for anything else.

“What? Want to suck it?”

Theon's hand left Jaime's arm and went to his breeches, where he squeezed his own cock. Jaime remembered how heavy and salty it felt on his tongue, in his mouth, then his ass.

He wanted to protest, to tell Greyjoy to move away, but he had been the only one who made him forget Cersei for a while, and he couldn't bear to think about her any longer. Guilt was driving him insane.

“Why are you here? - he asked, with a bittersweet rancour he couldn't place fully – You love him.”

“I do. - Theon said, swallowing, his eyelids trembled – Then?”

“Have you really never wanted anyone but the one you love?”

“Not a day of my life.”, Jaime replied, without hesitation.

Just Cersei, solely Cersei.

Theon's lips curled into a cocky smile, “Oh, Kingslayer... - he said, so softly, brushing their lips together – You wanted me.”

He did, Jaime had to accept that, though he found it hard.

Theon palmed Jaime's dick through his breeches, “You want me still.”, he said, rubbing it, proud and smug in seeing the crotch swell, the tent forming from the erection under his touch. Jaime sucked his lips, closed his eyes, leaning his head behind, abandoning himself to the touch.

Theon was no ironborn, no, he was one of the Sirens of Dornish legends, seducing sailors at sea.

“Say the magic words.”, Theon whispered on the brink of his mouth, grinning.

“But... why? - the Lannister had to ask – He's here. You're his, he's yours.”

Theon's eyes shone ablaze.

“Aren't you the one who said that people don't need big reasons to copulate?”

Jaime stared at Theon's swollen, purpled lips, enchanted, mesmerized.

Theon rubbed his crotch against Jaime's and drunk the frenzy of Jaime's suffocated, muffled, repressed moans, as the Kingslayer sucked his lips, watery-eyed, and tried to avoid arching his back.

“The truth.”, Jaime roared, arousal plain in his shattered voice.

Theon's eyes lowered and lingered on his body.

“Because taking you gives me shivers.”

“Fucking does tend to do that, yeah.”

Theon smirked and pulled Jaime's locks, forcing his head up and staring at his clenched jaw and his quivering lips.

“... like I'm breaking a horse. - his Smiler, who, like himself, smiled at all the wrong things … – The most stubborn horse, for sure.”

“A stallion?”, Jaime tried, chuckling, but his eyes were stained in the liquid darkness of desire and they waited on Theon's lips.

“A mare.”

“I suspected it.”

Theon laughed and pressed his lips against Jaime's, in a sloppy, wet kiss, taking him, dominating him, biting him through it. The taste of blood was sweet and seasoned with pleasure.

Jaime's head pushed towards Theon's, catching up to the rhythm, feeding the dance, their crotches burnt hard one next to the other.

The mirror should have felt broken by that contact, but it never felt deeper. He had his whole neck stuck in a mirror, his heart whole.

He felt like he was getting lost in himself, more than he had ever … despite Cersei … 

He moaned loudly, vulgarly and desperately high-pitched and Theon Greyjoy sent a chuckle so dark it echoed through his throat and ribs.

The ironborn's hand was in his breeches, untying them, and brought to the light his half-hard, pulsing cock.

“You've such a pretty face. - Theon mocked – Your dick is also pretty more than anything.”

Jaime winced, almost tempted to reply, but when Theon's hand was on his shaft and stirred it to full hardness, he swallowed down any words with the gagging and choking greed of a whore.

“Gods. - Theon smiled, his voice thick with craving – You did miss me in that cell, didn't you?”

Jaime was tempted to say he had just missed Cersei, but it would have been a lie.

And he, before that, always thought at least of himself to be honest.

He moaned and rolled his hips, following Greyjoy's rhythm, coming shamefully quickly in his fist, and whining at the release with his chest shaken by shallow breaths.

He panted, expecting a berating remark on his poor resistance, but Theon, instead, locked his lips with Jaime's, rubbing their trembling mouths and then his thumb, running slowly and delicately over the oversensitive slit of Jaime's cockhead, sending sparks to his spine.

Jaime screamed in Theon's mouth and Theon drank it, with the intense thirst with which Robb drank his moans at once.

“Kingsla-”

The two separated abruptly, as Brienne of Tarth entered the room.

Cleaned up and with the armor shining and a cape of the Tully colors, she did cut a more dashing figure, Theon noticed. The blue of the cape let the one of her eyes shine, and the red made it all appear more intense.

“My name is Jamie.”, the Kingslayer replied, as if he repeated that already to the point of nausea.

Lady Brienne just stared at Theon, confused.

“I, uhm. - she looked down – I came here to see the maister and ask when the Kingslayer, ...”

“Jaime.”

A sigh. “... Ser Jaime, may return to the dungeon. - she glared – Lady Stark was very adamant about him not being around more of her children.”

“I wouldn't worry about Robb's incolumity around this one. - Theon snickered, cocky – He had put him in his place already.”

Brienne seemed to glance more and more at their breeches, then looked away, her cheeks flushing. Theon wondered if she was still a maiden.

Probably.

He deduced from her fugitive glimpses that she wasn't very familiar with the sight, though she didn't seem disturbed by the … intimate homogeneity of the participants of the act.

“You’ve already met Theon Greyjoy, I suppose?”

Brienne nodded, bowing, “Personal guard of the King in the North.”

Jamie whistled, amused, “His knight of flowers, we could say.”

Theon was about to ask clarification, but Brienne seemed to understand just fine and replied bluntly, “I am not stupid, ser.”

“Oh? A ser? We're improving. Try saying Jaime, after.”

She ignored him, instead turned to Theon.

“Is His Grace informed of this? Or should he be?”

Theon laughed, “That I was about to fuck the Kingslayer? Oh, dear. - he sniffled and dried his eye from a tear of amusement – I wonder if that wouldn't be inappropriate for the whole army of the North to know.”

“Perhaps, but...”

“Should I tell her, Lannister? - he asked, turning towards him just enough – No needs for orifice details, I suppose, just the jist of it. Or do you deem lady Brienne would be upset by it?”

“She served Renly Baratheon. - Jaime commented, dryly, for some reason, feeling suddenly vulnerable under Brienne's eyes, as if those unnaturally intense lakes were judging him and cut him to pieces – I don't think she's unaware of much concerning the topic.”

“Thorny. - Theon observed, with a smirk – Robb, His Grace if you prefer, and I had already had an encounter with ser Jaime Lannister, in the past. - he bent his head by the side – Did I inform him I was going to have a new session with him? No. Is this high treason? No.”

“... but laying with both –”

“If it comforts you, it's the Kingslayer who lays with me.”, he said, smug.

Jamie Lannister's face turned the color of dark summer plums and he hid his eyes. Brienne felt her heart uncomfortably accelerating at the notion.

She couldn’t help but feel a warmth rush through her belly, strong as a tide but dense as wax. She forced herself to look away, but not before the Kingslayer had already locked eyes with her.

Theon observed with a gleam in his eyes.

“Oh. - he smirked – I see.”

“You see nothing.”, Jaime replied immediately.

Brienne turned then, looking firmly beyond the door she came from, “I won't inform His Grace, but I do not deem appropriate to give into such lewd acts with a prisoner, lord Greyjoy.”

Naming him lord still so convinced seemed to please him.

Theon stood up and moved to Brienne, smiling, smirking, and put an arm around her shoulders – Jaime prepared himself to see her overthrow him and flipping him like a spare stag, instead she let him do it. He moved closed to her, bending his head to stare at her, sly like fox, and gave a little tweet, “My Lady, would a guard be better?”

She stiffened and backed, outraged.

“I do not appreciate the jape, lord Greyjoy.”

“Was there one? - his eyes were half-lidded – I like women too, you know.” 

With soft, big chests and wide, squirmy hips, truth be told. But Brienne looked enough like his male type: broad, fair-eyed, freckled and, oh, so stubborn and so idealistic.

A younger Robb, before the war tore him stressed all over.

Theon knew that Jamie Lannister stared at the wench, and he wanted Lannister, and, perhaps, for them to see each other too.

For a part of him he saw in Jamie and a part of Robb in Brienne, he couldn't stop but wonder, if, perhaps, left to each other, all armours with stems removed, all titles and past bad deeds out of the way, they would have …

Brienne's hand, Jaime noticed, didn't go to her swords, rather, she frowned, “Quit your jest. It's not necessary to flatter me like a young maiden to get me to remain silent.”

“Are you a maiden no longer? - Theon asked, smirk on the lips, knowing the answer – I prefer women with more life down there, but a virgin you never refuse.”

“Greyjoy, if I were you, I'd move away. - the Kingslayer mocked, clearly feeling a green envy twisting his stomach upwards – That woman would kill you with a blow.”

Theon rose an eyebrow, “If she wanted, I'm confident she would. - his dark eyes found Brienne's blue mirrors – But she doesn't seem to crave to.”

Brienne backed a step.

“If you plan to keep it for your wedding, sweetling, I won't insist. - Theon winked – Although, really, what highest honor than serve your young king in every aspect? - that hurt her but she did not dare to say – Some maidens daydream of princes, pirates, knights, you'd get all three at once.”

Brienne didn't make it in time to reply, as she realized what Theon implied and felt her heartbeat drum in her head.

Jaime Lannister, of course, complained, scoffing, “A knight? Are you counting me in this equation, Greyjoy? - he spat a smirk – Don't flatter the wench by...”

“I know, I know. Cersei was the only one, wasn't she? - a scoff – And then me and then Robb. I had had more people at twelve than you had now, Lannister.”

He seemed livid, but his arousal was still flying half-mast.

Brienne was downright surprised by hearing of such absolute and queer devotion. She had taken him for frivolous or easy to bed, instead, he seemed to have some deformed sense of love in him.

That, somehow, made it all worse and harder to accept.

“If you would excuse me, I have matters more important than chitchat to attend to. - she said, coldly – The Kingslayer is under your responsibility until I return to bring him to his cell. - she turned to the door – Any damage or wound will be seen as your act.”

Theon chuckled, putting the hands on his hips, “Well, you flatter my size.”

Jaime wished he could just get buried and swallowed by the ground, and he stubbornly avoided glancing at Brienne until she left.

Then he looked at Theon, “What was that?”

Theon didn't reciprocate the look, he just kept staring at the void in front of himself.

“She's quite something, isn't she?”

Jaime pretended not to understand, for once he didn't feel like being truthful and blunt.

His body had been sufficiently so to embarrass him in front of that golem and that minx.

“Height-wise? At least six feet and three inches, I'd say.”

Theon then raised an eyebrow and showed Jaime a very unimpressed face, “I meant the way one usually speaks about people, Lannister. - he scoffed – You really are a maiden at heart.”

“You're awful to women.”, Jaime observed.

Theon frowned, “I'll let you know, they do not seem to share your impression, Lannister.”

He scoffed.

“Do you have a cock for a brain? Being a good lover is not being a good man.”

Somehow Cersei knocked at his mind.

Theon seemed both amused and outraged, the compliment flattered him, but it awoke burnt, exposed wounds that still pulsed down somewhere too rich and too dirty for him to check and pour neither salt nor wine on.

“Of which one are you jealous, Lannister? The bear or the maid?”

Jaime snorted, “You'd have to precise who is who. - his eyes gleamed in satisfaction recognizing humiliation in Theon's eyes – But for the matter, neither, I just found it laughable how differently you treat men from women. - he raised an eyebrow – Fond of your father more than your mother?”

“You'll shut that mouth now.”

“Or? - Jaime scoffed – Will you fill it?”

 

*

 

“Your Grace. - Umber mumbled – We need more food.”

Robb sighed, rubbing insistently his nose bridge and the eyelids. They were red by a week. His bags under the eyes had started to get worse too.

He scratched his chin and jawline, god, the hairs itched. But there was no way he could admit that, could he? How much of a glabrous, callow kid would have he seemed?

“The Tyrells after the death of Renly must be trying to find allies, either with the Lannisters or with Stannis. - he said, thinking out loud – Stannis Baratheon has only a daughter, correct?”

Umber nodded. Robb sighed, heavily.

“We will fish every trout we can find. - Robb then glanced at the map again – In the woods, maybe, maybe we can find some wildfowl.”

The Greatjon nodded, with one of those proud smiles he sometimes gave Robb, which he felt were, truly, underserved.

A man so boisterous, so fierce, he was more a mountain than a man, would sometimes stare at Robb like a father would, as if he saw any value in how terribly he was trying to survive and make them all win that impossible war, he had sang to him, shared drinks of ale with him, trying to besten that ill mood that Robb by then perceived as part of himself.

Only him and Theon had been of some comfort, after all.

Bran was doing well in Winterfell, Luwin said, and with each raven, Robb felt smaller.

He wanted to go home.

To ride to the woods with Theon, roll in the fresh snow, kiss him madly, get worried his sisters would see or hear when they were in the room – those terrors now seemed almost a grace from the gods – or hold his brothers and hope they wouldn't understand Theon's japes.

Theon, Theon, Theon.

And he, he was promised to Roslin Frey.

Roslin, Roslin – he made an effort to imagine himself with her, or with a woman, at all, and he failed.

Surely, maybe under the sweet frenzy of ale, for one night, it could be done, maybe he could have even bedded a woman, if he had bedded a Lannister, but... but then he had Theon to help, to tempt. Theon made it possible, for anything Theon had wanted, Robb was never good at denying him.

For a moment, he wished Theon begged him to abandon the war.

So he would return home for sure.

And all the lords of the north could unking him, call him a fool, make Bran, for real, forever, Lord of Winterfell. He would have taken that, to return home.

To hear his mother shut up.

To not have to bed Roslin Frey.

To have his sisters laugh – Sansa, his precious Sansa, he remembered her covered in blood when she came out of their mother, he remembered how ugly she looked and yet, somewhat, there was a crazy charm about it, about that cloth wrapped cocoon moving and crying and shaking for attention – and Arya, Arya who was so proud and so small and so like Rickon and him, wild and stubborn, and so little like Sansa or Bran. 

Bran, Bran and Rickon, how he missed them too...

Gods be good, who would want to be king? Which fool? Four, four fools were fighting for that?

For what?

That madman of Balon Greyjoy, who drank his brain with salt water, how did someone like Theon come from that man's seed. That vulgar sadistic prick of Joffrey, who instead had a father, a real one and a fake one both, too good to explain the mistake he was. And the two Baratheons, fighting at each other's neck like children, damn children, how he hated th- ah, right, Renly, Renly had died.

He imagined it.

Bran dead, Rickon dead.

He shook his head, throwing away that painful fantasy – that, that would have made him insane.

That and losing Theon.

“Your Grace?”, Greatjon Umber said, again.

Robb heard his voice sounding hoarser, drier, “Yes?”

“You do not seem to be sleeping well. - he said, unsettled – You need to rest more to be lucid.”

“I'm sleeping as much as I can.”

Greatjon scoffed, “Forgive my bluntness, from man to man, I would say a good two hours per night less than you could, Your Grace.”

Robb's eyes widened and he jumped standing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My King. - Greatjon Umber was.. smiling? – I think you're well-aware of how my uncle Hother got his moniker.”

Robb couldn't hide a slight blush. He had wondered if that was true.

“I thought he wished to remarry.”

“Some men don't have a favourite river to fish in, my King.”

Robb frowned. Theon was the same. He wondered if Theon would remarry... or marry at all, if he would have gotten killed.

If Theon would have forgotten him.

Like pawprints in the snow get covered by new one.

He choked down a sob and found his eyes tingling.

Greatjon moved closer, “I won't say it, Your Grace, fear not. – he said, as kindly as he could, as sweetly as Robb wished his father would have taken it if... if he ever... – I'm loyal to you, these tastes... I do not understand, but I will not care. You're my King for your worth. For that we followed Ned, for his name meant something, and you have his name written deeper than in your blood.”

Robb nodded, biting his lips.

“Thank you, lord Umber. - he whispered, his voice thin as wrinkled leaves – My mother, she...”

“I'm aware.”

“And she must not...”

“Naturally.”

Robb nodded weakly, trying to focus on the map, but finding that hardly possible. His head rang, his mind was dizzy. Had he just admitted his truth to Lord Umber? And had he accepted it? And since when and was he the only one to know and Karstark? Did he fantasize about Theon?

He wondered about how open the north really was or not.

His father was never much the man, though he loved him Robb knew that much.

“Now, Your Grace. - the Greatjon continued, trying his best to sound not as huge and intimidating as his seven feet made him – While I do not understand the charm of Greyjoy, I'm sure I understand your youth and blood. It's good, it's all health. - he gave a stormy laugh – But you're also a king and kings must rest sometimes, otherwise they give orders sleeping on their thrones.”

Robb felt awkward and tried to swallow down his embarrassment, but his cheek felt hot.

“I will.”

“And it was good for us too. - Lord Umber said then, looking away – He returned to you, to us, Your Grace, and warned us of his father. Not many men would have chosen word over blood.”

Robb felt his throat tight.

He couldn't have blamed him, if he had. But just the idea was a whip cracking his heart open.

“The troops you sent back will stop him, Your grace, but we would have lost this war, had it not been for the... loyalty you inspired in him.”

Robb let out a little grin seeing the Greatjon struggle with words.

“Well, this has been intimate enough.”, he let out, his heart lighter.

The Umber gave a serious nod, “I will instruct the men on the fishing, my King, you get some rest, real one, and then we will make plans over the exchange of that Lannister with something profitable.”

“I sure hope so. - he looked away – My mother insists I'd trade him with my sisters, but...”

“Your mother is a mother. You can't ask her to suggest it any other way. - he then seemed to mumble – Oh, but did you meet that woman knight she brought here?”

“Brest of Tarth? - Robb mumbled – Something like that.”

“I'd exclude that one. - Greatjon laughed, to cough off when he noticed Robb didn't catch it – Brive or something similar, though. That's a woman the wildlings would go crazy for. If she went to the Nightwatch, they'd probably submit to the lord commander in days.”

Robb laughed, “I sure hope she'll be more effective on the Lannisters.”

“She sure has a caring heart under that appearance, my lord, she brought the Kingslayer to the maister, she spotted a fever right away.”

Robb flinched.

Jaime? Ill?

“I'll go meet him later. - he said – We can't afford our best hostage to fall dead just because of this humid place.”

“I will escort you personally, if you deem it necessary, Your Grace.”

When he turned to the door, Robb blinked.

She was taller than Theon, taller than his father had been, broad of shoulders and jaw. She broke her nose twice at least, he figured.

That, that was going to be a proud warrior.

He grinned, moving to her, hands on his hips, “My mother told me wonders of you, Knight of Tarth.”

“Brienne will suffice, Your Grace.”, she said, with a small bow of her head, but Robb spotted a smile on her swollen lips.

“Nonsense, Brienne of Tarth. - he repeated, this time hoping to remember it, after too many names, too many lords, too many cities – Have you been knighted yet?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“We shall put a remedy to that then. - he promised, smiling, then turned to the Greatjon – This one is almost as tall as you, you'd mistake her for an Umber, weren't for the eyes.”

Brienne stared at him with a soft look, the blue in her eyes grew warmer and it seemed to Robb her lips quivered with muffled tears.

“You must be tired, knight of Tarth, bring me to the prisoner and then go to guard my mother.”

“As Your Grace pleases.”, she replied, obediently.

 

*

 

While they were walking, the echo of their footsteps lingered through the blue stones and the wood. Brienne noted to walk slower, allowing the King not to be behind her, and observed him quietly.

He did look a lot like Lady Stark, immensely so; he inherited her colors and strong face, and her grace more than everything – he was pleasant, though, charming, much differently from her, but not in the same way Renly was or lord Greyjoy.

He was fresh like a spring of water.

Not wine that boils the head dizzy.

She remembered Greyjoy's words - “Although, really, what highest honor than serve your young King in every aspect?” - what a cruel jape... as if.

For some reason, Jaime Lannister came to her mind.

“Your Grace... - she frowned, unsure if daring to speak – Am I allowed to speak?”

Robb blinked, “Have I given you the opposite impression?”

“Lord Greyjoy, he seemed familiar with the Kingslayer in unorthodox ways.”

Robb's jaw clenched and he seemed to suck his lips. He let out a chuckle.

“He's not betraying my trust, if that's what worries you.”

“Your Grace didn't seem to be aware of his position, though.”

Robb's eyes shone, “I trust Lord Greyjoy with my life, Brienne of Tarth. I am not aware what my mother told you of him, but...”

“I'm informed of your... close relationship, my lord, forgive my bluntness.”, Brienne interrupted him then, her cheeks burning with shame.

She was quite a cute sigh, though. So tall and wide and blunt and yet so soft and shy.

He felt a weird flutter.

“Ah. Uh, ho... did my mother?”

She shook her head, “The Kingslayer, my Lord, and lord Greyjoy himself. When I saw them, they wanted me not to suspect a betrayal, otherwise I'm sure they wouldn't have exposed it easily, Your Grace.”

Robb nodded, made sense.

Yet the idea of Theon alone with Jaime Lannister.

He thought... it was something for both of them, not...for Theon alone. He thought it was an addendum, not something for Theon to return to as he pleased.

Then again he hadn’t really forbidden him to.

And lately maybe he had been too domineering; maybe spending an hour with someone who'd submit to him was what Theon needed.

Yet, possessiveness burnt through him.

His veins were alight, dense, hard. He felt his teeth hurt with the absence of Theon's neck under them.

“Very well, then you realize it was not a problem.”

“... but, my King, did you agree on it? Laying with the Kingslayer could be dangerous.”

Robb smiled, raising his eyebrows, “For Theon?”

“...yes?”

Robb let out a small laugh, shaking his head, “Theon Greyjoy saved my brother Bran from wildlings, saved my life in the battle for Casterly Rock and is the best archer in my army. And he is skilled with the dirk. - he scoffed – If the Kingslayer wants to try to take him down, he might try, though, in my experience, nothing is more dangerous than ruining one of Theon Greyjoy's satin tunics or velvet doublets.”

Brienne stared at the King with a certain quiet awe.

He shone when he spoke about that lord Greyjoy.

She wondered if love used to light her face up the same way, or if only when it's mutual, shared and cherished by both sides it becomes light instead of all-consuming night.

For a moment, she felt Renly tight in her chest again.

She blinked, then, and the enchantment fell broken and Renly was washed off of her heart so quick, a tempestuous summer storm crashing the sky in relief, and she felt all empty and heavy – as he persisted like past rain on glass windows.

Descending slowly and round, sign of things gone.

“You sure trust him a lot, my King.” 

More than he seems worthy of, she seemed to add, as her eyes went to the side.

But Robb recognized his mother so limpidly, he felt more tenderness than anger.

“Even a reliable king needs to rely on someone, Brienne, as a knight relies on their sword.”

She found him an odd king.

But not in a bad way.

Robb glanced at her and found he liked his mother's decisions more when they concerned foreign Knights than Theon's movements, though they had to both admit their faults, when Theon returned, proving him wrong on the mission and Catelyn on whether he was a man of honor.

He forced himself not to imagine Theon and the Kingslayer rolling in bed like lovers, kissing, Theon filling him and the Kingslayer licking him.

He knew, he knew, that it made no sense to worry about that. Theon was not one to commit to one bed, he did to one heart and Robb was sure it should have been enough for him.

But then he felt an anger.

Dense, red, smoldering.

An anger as deep as the pillars of the world they were standing on.

It twisted in his stomach, slapped his heart and squeezed it to the last drop – the idea of Theon loving someone else left no bones in him to stand straight on. It took everything out of him.

And one can't possess a person like they can possess a title or land. It's a pact.

Even marriage is not clean from exceptions – he knew of Jon, he knew of the Queen's spawn – and Theon and him didn't even have that... odd, crazy chance.

Maybe Theon and the Kingslayer did have something in common.

Loving in the shadows someone destined to someone else.

Were they going to go mad like them? Kill direwolves and throw children out of windows? Would the absence of bastard incestuous offspring lift them from the worst or would that just sour the poison?

And there, from the shadows, from a dark place where everything is blurred by pain, with no drawn lines and no borders of morality, could the Kingslayer even feel his Queen Sister loved him?

Could Theon?

“Your Grace?”, Brienne called him.

As he came to his senses again, seeing the world instead of his drenched mind, he found himself at the door where they were. His hand close to the knob.

It shouldn't have hurt.

It shouldn't have pierced his head.

He loved Theon, his rough edges and cutting smirks towards others too. And yet.

 

*

 

“Robb Stark!”, Jaime Lannister exclaimed, as amiably awful as he remembered him.

Robb looked around the room, finding Theon on the chair, sleeping.

Clothes on.

Robb frowned and turned, inquisitive, to Jaime, finding him with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, you thought badly of us. - he said, smug – Lord Greyjoy had played big boy a bit, but as the … ser, here, left, he chuckled away from his promises and sat on the chair to, uhm, guard me, I suppose.”

“And... you didn't escape.”

“Just to be blocked on the other floor by your guards? That would seem reckless and useless.”

“I thought you'd be arrogant enough to think you could defeat any man in Westeros.”

“Oh, I can! - he grinned, and his hair shone like gold and Robb remembered why lions were on Lannister's emblems – With a sword and maybe three at once. Without and at thirty, that becomes too much even for me to bite.”

Robb smirked, “I suppose. - he looked at Theon with tenderness – He stopped, uh?”

“I think he felt guilty for not having you with us. - the Lannister scoffed – He's surprisingly faithful for a sybarite.”

Robb rolled his eyes to the ceiling, smiling aggressively, “And you're outstandingly well-behaved for an incestuous oath breaker.”

“Hm. - Jaime bit his lips – Don't talk like that to me, Stark, you'll make my maidenhood all wet.”

Brienne let out a grossed out groan.

“Your majesty! - Jaime faked being outraged – That wench dares doubt your skills of seduction.”

Robb sighed deeply and let out a low grunt, “Kingslayer, Lannister, Jaime, this is Brienne, the Knight of Tarth, you'll refer to her as lady or ser.”

“How contradictory and fluctuant. - he pouted, eyes shining, staring at her – She should pick one.”

Brienne's hand trembled on the handle of her longsword.

“He teases you for it's his nature.”, Robb told her, as to calm her.

“He teases you because he fancies you.”

They turned towards a drowsy, groaning Theon, who was stretching himself on the chair, like a cat. He cleared his throat with a dry sigh.

“We thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, until this bickering started.”

Robb looked at Jaime, “Were you silent before? To let him sleep?”

Jaime scoffed, “Do you ignore how light your lover's sleep is?”

“He does, because he doesn’t wake up with anything. - Theon said, standing up – One could play songs in his ear and he would go on to rest until they’d finished the whole repertoire of Westeros and Essos.”

“Oh, that's why you look like a horse had walked all over you, boy. - Jaime found it amusing – You're being deprived of your babysleep.”

“You know you insult yourself, right? - Robb blurted out – I defeated you, imprisoned you, shag-”

He stopped seeing Theon's widened eyes and then remembered that Brienne was there.

Robb coughed, “I'm sorry, my Lady, I-”

Brienne was not sure how to express she was not that naive.

“Your Grace shouldn't worry about it. I am quite aware of what was meant.”

Jaime whistled, “I hadn't taken you for a coquette.”

Theon glanced at him, “You're still in that phase in which you pester women to get their attention?”

“As if.”

“That was a weak reply for your usual parlantine.”, Robb observed, baffled.

“Because he's keen on her.”, Theon said, sharply, staring at him.

Brienne felt a dagger twist in her guts.

She felt mockery sink in her like a crown of thorns, tearing her throat to shreds and cutting it into ribbons that would sink into the sour boiling of her ragged stomach.

She remembered Loras' own bleak looks, full of pity and scorn.

Robb turned to her, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“My lady, Lord Greyjoy means no harm to you. - he looked over him – Theon, I am used to your japes, but...”

“Jape? Again?”, he chuckled.

“Again?”

“She always accuses me of japing her, but I'm most serious. - he shrugged, grinning – You take me for a jester because of my smirk, but... oh, well, if I have to, to prove myself.”

And he walked up to Brienne, at first, she thought, to bow in forgiveness or walk beyond her.

Instead, he raised himself on his tiptoes and put his lips on her own, briefly, softly.

Brienne was about to back off, when she felt his hand on her waist.

No man had ever moulded her like that – Renly had danced with her, of course, but it was pristine and far away, not... so simple, so sexual. She opened her mouth, to gasp, to talk, to inquire, but Theon Greyjoy smirked against her lips and sunk his tongue into her at once.

Warm, soft – it felt uncomfortable at first but soon something inside her took over, grabbing her control, maybe it was that he tasted good, sweet even, like wine from the sweetest grapes, or maybe it was that the blood inside her was sparks of thunders, but she replied to him soon and took pleasure in feeling Theon smiling at it.

He didn't seem to mind her size, rather, his hand seemed to find a problem with her armor, as it slid softly over her body, trying to find a way to slip in.

Her face felt hot and she moved further, sliding her tongue into him as he did to her.

And he let out a low moan of approval. Guttural, manly, but a moan nonetheless.

Brienne found herself liking the sheer, subtle power pleasing a man while holding control gave her. She pushed and Theon opened his mouth fully and his hands trembled on her; he tried to regain some dominance, as if it had been a duel of sorts, but she was taller, bigger, and she soon discovered the thrill of a man's voice whimpering into her own mouth.

She took his mouth furiously, and, as they parted, she saw his swollen, wet lips panting.

Light shivered in his eyes.

“What a woman...”, he whispered.

Something inside him ran to Asha's proposal of staying atop of him, when he had thought of her as Esgred, and that temptation hadn’t ridden of off him yet.

“Are you more convinced now of my sincerity, my lady?”, Theon offered.

Robb moved between them, unaware of how strong he seemed, harshly putting his body as a sword to cut them apart.

“Theon, ask forgiveness.”

A knowingly smirk, “To whom?”, he asked, sweetly, lips bent into a pouty heart.

His hand ran over Robb's leather doublet.

“If it's to you, I know how to gain my forgiveness.”

Robb flinched, shivering, as he felt his cock twitch just at the idea. Theon smirked, ah... he was young indeed.

Theon bit his lips, wicked, “Yes?”

“To... to lady Brienne, of course.”

“Oh, I don't think she minded it. - he said, simply, then turned to her – Did you hate it, lady?”

Brienne was mildly petrified by an uncomfortable, unknown warmth that had taken her between the thighs and was unsure of how to decode her own thoughts at all, let alone answer without stuttering.

“You see. - Theon grinned, satisfied, given his kind and half-lidded look – She did enjoy me, as I enjoyed her.”

Robb frowned, “She's my knight, Theon.”

“And you're our King. Mine and hers alike. - he said, softly – I didn't know sleeping with someone with whom you have such a power gap was beyond you.”

Robb seemed to want to protest but Theon's hand moved to his cheek and his lips to his jawline and neck, where he started to nibble and suck, soft and hard, pulling the skin to drag blood and licking it tender and in burning relief again. Robb grunted, suffocating low groans, as Theon's hand moved to his breeches.

Brienne jolted, embarrassed at the sight, but Theon glanced at her, warmly, “Why do you wait, my lady? Join us.”

And then the most strangled, poorly-arousal-hiding, voice came from the bed.

“As much as I appreciate the show, I am still tied here, maybe you’ve forgotten.”, Jaime Lannister protested.

“Oh. - Theon chirped, evil – I thought you didn't care for it. If you want to join us, of course, we can move to the bed with you. - he glanced at his tense breeches – Unless you prefer to take care of _that_ just while watching us.”

Jaime stiffened, staring at the truth, shoved in his face in the shape of his own betraying cock.

Theon sighed, deeply, “Why is it that I'm always the one who has to lead the dances around here?”

He took Brienne and Robb's hands and walked with them to the bed, then smirked at both, as they sat, not too apart, almost looking at each other.

Theon sat on Robb's lap, swiftly, making the King emit a low grunt, and bent forward, his hands caressing Brienne's face, her jaw, inviting her to bow slightly towards him. And she did, closing her eyes, sweetly innocent, and kissing him again.

Brienne's tongue was soon in him and, oh, the enthusiasm of beginners – she was clumsy, making it sloppy, but so volitive and violent even, Theon couldn't help but feel himself stirring hard.

Robb's hands, instead, made no mystery of the turmoil of emotions taking over him.

They were harder, harsher than usual and bruised Theon's skin with every caress, sinking into his hips, grabbing his ass.

Theon moaned into Brienne's mouth as he felt Robb's erection against his butt, craving him already, swollen like a bull's.

He could feel, hear, Robb's groans charged with fury, with possession.

It drove him insane. It was so good.

To know Robb was so mad for him.

Whoever had he married, Roslin or Walda or whichever other meek Frey girl, he would have always belonged to him and him alone.

It was a pact sealed by nails dragged down his skin and muffled moans.

Robb craved possession and Theon would give it and deny it – he would give him something and deny something else, just like Robb would have. How dared he.

Marrying someone.

Theon felt his heart hurt, but decided to ignore it, as he felt the maid of Tarth separate to breathe and Robb pulling his pants lower, grabbing his skin no more through the fabric.

Theon's smug look was on his face again.

“So, Lannister. - he glanced – Have you changed your mind yet?”

Jaime bit his lip and Theon knew he had won.

He panted to Robb, “Kiss him.”

Robb frowned, “Me?”

“I want to see him squirm.”, Theon explained, simply, taking pleasure in the sharp humiliation on Lannister's face. It was made to be slapped.

Robb moved to Jaime and lifted his chin, the stubble was coarse on his fingertips, the eyes warm on him.

“So, Stark? - he sneered – Don't make me wait.”

“I remember you liked begging.”, Robb bit back.

And Jaime couldn't reply, because he had Robb's big, thick tongue inside him. Uselessly big, annoyingly so.

It filled him to the brink and Jaime felt violated even just by that, turned open, but as Robb laid slightly on him, and his hard cock pressed against his own, Jaime couldn't stop himself from remembering how he had felt inside.

How hurtful, how fulfilling.

How perfect.

He remembered the pain that followed, the day after, and the sense of utter emptiness, and how he craved him and the Greyjoy alike, to break him, to tame him like a horse, to shut him up by split-roasting him again.

Ripped apart in delight.

He moaned, as Robb pressed, squeezing his dick lightly, and he bucked his hips against him, his muffled voice going higher.

He wanted it, he wanted it all the same like that night, and more.

And that wench, that wench's eyes on him – mesmerizing like the darkest lake – they made it all better.

Innocence lost. Like his own.

And yet in such a better way.

He wanted to hurt her soul and to elect her above him, to have her fix him and destroy him at once.

Robb Stark claimed his attention, then, parting so quick that Jaime almost gagged on air, and then slapping his face hard.

His cheek burnt and stung, and he stared in the void.

His dick jumped, leaking at the touch.

Another slap, harsher, and he couldn't help but suffocate a liquid, crystalline moan.

Robb gave him a murky grin, “Now, be good. - he ordered – And show the lady how the lion sucks the wolf.”

Jaime tried to reply with a chuckle, but swallowed it down as Robb dropped his breeches.

Hunger makes the querulous mute, his septa used to say, though he hadn’t thought she had been referring to cock-hunger exactly.

From the last time, it had grown. Damn puberty. 

At the base there was even more reddish fur, redder than his hair and the little fuzz he had on his chin, and the scent had grown stronger too.

Jaime gulped dryly, realizing there was no way for him to take that in as non-chalantly as he would have liked.

For a moment, he was so aware of his lips, his face, and he started by kissing it, almost devoted as if he had ever been anything like that in his life, then let his tongue out, slowly, caressing the lines, running on the veins.

Robb threw his head back, his breath shattered, warm.

Jaime circled the head, his tongue tormenting the necklace of skin at its base, looming over it, loosely and relentless. Until Robb pushed through his lips, forcing himself into Jaime's mouth, and he, at first, coughed, feeling it pressing against his walls, claiming him to the back of his throat, but then started bobbing his head, trying to get more inside, to welcome him, greedy for that shaft.

Brienne stared, enchanted in a thick, intense way, she felt again that sensation storming in her stomach and then Greyjoy's hands on her, taking off her armor, her tunic, freeing her smoldering skin.

He smiled and her first instinct was to cover herself up.

But he took her wrist and kissed it.

His eyes were unkind, but not evil. Just full of desire, and desire is selfish.

“Freckles. - he whispered to her – You've the same marks as our King.”

She blinked.

He caressed her, smooth, “In Pyke, we call them seafoam splashes. - he lied, to relax her, as his hand caressed her soft breast, brushing it gently and then, as the thumb rubbed on her nipple, he smirked – Some women even draw them for vanity.”

Brienne could barely understand.

Something of hers? Pretty? Enviable even? And was a man stroking her breasts softly? And why did it feel like her skin had softened, pulsing, melting under his touch?

One of lord Greyjoy's hands took a nipple in between its fingers and twisted it lightly, as to test her, and a moan escaped her mouth.

He was having fun, she figured, but not in a mocking way. He enjoyed her.

He twisted it harder, groping, growing in his pressure as much as he felt her reactions allowed, listening to her voice and shivers growing thicker and wetter; then he took the other nipple in his mouth and sucked it. 

Brienne arched her back, letting moans escape her, surprise mixed with arousal and an uncertain craving.

Theon's tongue and mouth tormented her soft breast, until her dark pink nipples were so hard they almost hurt. Brienne let out a squirmy whine as Theon's mouth enlarged and he took more of her breast in, until it almost disappeared in his lips.

Her lips quivered, she spasmed. And Theon's fingers seized the other nipple, playing with it, flicking it. 

Shivers ran through her spine and she muffled any sound with her mouth, until, with a pop, Theon let the boob slip out of his mouth, took the other nipple in it, biting it slightly and slapped the wet, abandoned one. 

She gasped so loud and obscene that Robb and the Kingslayer turned to them and Theon grinned, seeing the spectacle.

Jaime's jaw was dropping lewdly, wetness drooling from his lips, while he had half of Robb's cock in. And Robb looked so obscenely hard, the girth was clearly too much for Jaime's unused mouth.

But Theon found all of that just more arousing.

He licked his lips and glanced at her.

“Is this your first time seeing some dick?”

Not exactly. She had seen some, she had played with Galladon at times in the pools, and had seen some from drunk guards at times, but so stiff and at use? That was another matter.

Theon smirked, gesturing for her to lay next to where Jaime was. She was staring too intently at his mouth, feeling almost as if she... ah, but that was silly, wasn't it? She was a woman, after all, she couldn't.

Robb was pushing into Jaime Lannister's mouth so hard that tears pooled in the corners of his mouth, and his hollow cheeks seemed to labour for him to suck on it, as if there was air in it for him to breathe.

Robb's face was reddened and Theon moved to him, catching his lips in a kiss, slow and dark, pulling him closer. Robb grunted low and Theon bit his lips to the blood.

His thrusts grew faster and he arched his back, moving then suddenly slowly, almost trembling, and his voice got breathy. 

Jaime Lannister rolled his eyes to the ceiling, in an ecstatic expression of flushed obscenity. Theon cooed into Robb's ear, caressing his still big balls.

“Good wolf. - he kissed his cheek – He spent into the lion's mouth.”

Robb took it out, and, even if softer, it made Brienne blink.

Theon Greyjoy then grabbed Jaime Lannister's cheeks with his hands, squeezing them, and grinned.

“Swallow it.”

Brienne gulped, staring at the Kingslayer's apple jump up and then drop in his throat.

Theon then slapped him again, as Robb did, and Jaime's face twisted towards her.

They stared in each other's eyes, while something boiled in the air through them.

Thunder.

And he moved to her and they were at each other's mouths, hungry in need and heat, biting and licking, filling and emptying each other's mouth in feverish frenzy. She ran her hands through his thick, blonde hair and his voice whined into her.

She caressed them gently, sweetly, and then, almost to try, almost to play, she pulled them.

It was so hard that he cocked his head back and parted from her lips. She could see his jaw drop and his voice deform in the wettest of moans.

His sounds were so high-pitched he almost seemed too fragile to be real.

And she loved how small his wrists were in her hands.

She was bending, laying almost over him, when she felt hands pulling her own breeches down. She glanced, without stopping her kiss. Greyjoy.

Robb Stark was close next to him, kissing his back, so devotedly, so enamoured, his lips burning on the skin with love.

Theon, though, lowered himself between her legs.

She was not sure what to expect, but she closed her eyes a moment, bracing for pain they told would have come.

Instead, she arched, squirming, soon, shouting and parting from the kiss.

Theon Greyjoy's tongue was on her, licking her somewhere above her slit that sent fire through all her body.

She screamed again, incredulous, until her jaw dropped and her voice fell, as weak as a whisper. Theon's tongue was hot, twitching over her, circling her, tormenting something – a pearl? a fold? her own core? She couldn't say – and his chin rubbed her entrance, pointy, sliding into it slightly as his mouth opened and he sucked her, gently, taking her between his lips. He insisted, and from his mouth came only a delight so sublime it was almost too much. Brienne was not sure how to breathe, her whole body felt tense, and yet she knew she didn't want him to stop, no. Something like that, she couldn't stop wanting, her whole body was shivering just from it.

And something pooled inside her, as a growing lake pressed against a dam. Her body was heat and tremor all at once, lost in a pleasure she couldn't phantom. She felt her hips drown and writhe, until he passed again to his flat tongue and she saw white and electric delight.

For a moment, she pulsed, so much it felt as if her skin down there was raw and exposed, and as he licked again she flinched.

He chuckled, low and warm, but then let out a moan, as Robb Stark moved between his own legs, starting to lick him, as he did to her. Theon's thighs trembled in bliss, but he forced himself to focus and his tongue moved inside Brienne's cunt, and she whimpered.

He was drinking her as if she was wine.

Her feet curled and her legs trembled, opening, inviting him deeper.

Then something added – she turned and saw the Kingslayer – as he licked a finger and then moved to insert it in, slowly.

Her entrance pulsed and tensed, claiming him at once.

He let out a breathless gasp and crossed eyes with her again, staring at her as if he saw her for the first time.

He added a second finger, and then Theon Greyjoy returned above to assault and tantalize her clit to her bliss and rapture. She let her head fall back, between the pillows, as the Kingslayer moved faster into her, striking fervently in her, as if she was the sheath to his sword, drowning in her harder each time.

Theon's precision faltered as Robb's tongue slid past his rim, entering his hole, and widening it sweetly. Theon suffocated a moan against Brienne's blonde fur, but it was barely any change.

Robb's stubble was scratching his thighs and asscheeks, his tongue was assaulting his orifice and all of Theon’s strength crumbled.

Sweat ran down his legs; ice and fire at the same time.

And Robb's thick, dirty, copper curls tickled him subtly. Like his low sounds, as he ate him.

Theon choked a moan and had to stop licking, while Brienne twitched under him and let out an acute moan, as Jaime curled his four fingers inside her, striking a point that sent her writhing and turning, in a wet pool of unravelled moans and lewd pants.

Theon moved quickly enough to take her squirt into his mouth, drinking her pleasure, while she trembled.

Robb pulled Theon's hair back.

“Thank the lady for the meal.”

Theon rolled his eyes back, speechless in arousal. His dick was pulsing and leaking precome.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good bitch.”, Robb said, proud.

It was not like him to humiliate him like that in front of others, but Theon's cock just jumped at that. Robb's low voice made his knees buckle and his asshole feel empty.

As he expected to receive the tongue back, he earned a spank.

Another. And another.

He cried, bucked, his eyes full of tears, mouth full of Brienne's come, and in his ears three different sets of moans and then his own, louder than all the other summed, drilling din in his eardrums.

His ass burned under Robb's strong slaps, and then as he felt Robb's erection rub his own cock, slowly.

Theon fell more forward, his face in Brienne's fur, licking it greedily and hypnotized, while his butt was up, inviting Robb to just drill into him.

Instead he got his belt twisting and slamming on his skin, hard.

But not enough to satisfy him yet.

The Kingslayer made Brienne turn from the show of the other two and kissed her softly, while lifting her side gently – she was heavier than him, but still delicate, and it was her first night spent with a man. He caressed her hips sweetly, candidly, as Cersei hated, and whispered into her ear, warmly.

“I'll try not to make you hurt.”

“I know.”, she said. Without an inch of doubt.

And he slid into her, feeling her so tight, he bit his lips, forcing himself to slow down, while his nerves begged him to thrust fully in her.

He felt Theon's tongue on his own cock, wetting it enough to help and far too much for Jaime to maintain a full control, and he shivered, his balls pulling tight and heavy.

The maid of Tarth lost her maidenhood with a honeyed scream stained with moans as her own hips thrust more towards him.

Jaime smiled, impressed: not a virgin since seconds and she was already setting her own rhythm.

He grinned, and Theon's lips kissed his cock's base, as Brienne moved with Jaime, their movements meeting, their thrusts finding the middle. Jaime bit her shoulder, muffling a moan into her fresh blood and she felt the kind of ecstasy that burns in animals.

Jaime found it hard to keep resisting: the wench was wet and slick but tight, as tight as a ring of fire around him.

Flames lapped him alight.

He felt his cock throbbing and Theon would suck his balls, greedily, and his mouth was as hot as Brienne's cunt. Jaime chocked, desiring, for a moment, to have someone in his ass too.

But it was Theon who got that delight, as the King in the North pushed through him, slow, inch by inch, making the Greyjoy heir whine, beg and move his hips like a rutting dog towards him.

Theon moaned, lewd, his voice shattered and reduced to a shapeless pool of dripping sounds, as Robb, obscenely big, would drive into him, splitting him in two.

Theon was losing any control, but, clearly, the little he retained was still too much for what his King would allow and, without warning, he lifted Theon and moved him, throwing him over Brienne's twitching and squirming body.

Theon's legs shivered but he grabbed her face and kissed her intensely, thrusting his hips, rubbing his cock against her pulsing clit. Jaime fastened his rhythm, as he felt Brienne wetter and tighter at the same time, but he couldn't help the jealousy as he saw Robb moving again, sliding again inside Theon's asshole, widening him beyond any decency and then slamming into him.

Theon arched, screaming, moaning, his jet black hair was a rain as dense as his delightful voice. Robb sank his fingernails into him, grabbed his waist and hips and drove into him as mercilessly as only hunger can be.

He stuffed him balls-deep, greedy to destroy, mark, possess. 

Theon's voice shattered definitely as Robb aimed at his sweet, weak, delicious spot, making him writhe and suck his lips, into a state of delirating bliss.

Brienne arched back against him, driving herself harder on his cock; Jaime caught back his own voice, pleasure making him mute, his jaw dropping as her force took over. She was so strong, he realized, she could have pinned him down and fucked herself on him for hours.

The thought almost made him shoot.

He choked, “Out, I have to come out.”

She didn't listen, jumping on his cock, while she felt Theon's rubbing on her front, driving her insane at both sides.

When Jaime was all in, he couldn't stop either, instead, he made sure the curve of his dick could find that spot that made her shrivel and shiver before and rubbed on there, and she clenched on him so hard he could just let his lips quiver, as he stared, amazed.

She rode him through her own orgasm, fucking him desperately, and coming in twisting clenches and heavenly spasms, drinking his come in her, taking it all, and arching back, unable to contain herself, as her front burnt in desire too.

Jaime panted, feeling his cock going soft in the hottest cradle it ever had, while Theon would spill and come against his and Brienne's pressed stomachs, staining both of them in pearl.

Robb slid out still hard and big, almost exiting fully, just to then drive again into Theon's raw and oversensitive ass, sending him to overload and making him come again, just by slamming into him until he cried and his cock jumped and jolted the load out.

He was almost weeping.

Jaime could feel himself harden again at the sight.

“Apologize. - Robb Stark ordered, pulling Theon's hair again – You stained the lady.”

Theon's mouth trembled, his lips wet, his muscles still trembling, overload twitching through his veins.

He had thunderstruck bones and a heart set ablaze.

“I'm sorry, my lady. - he managed, his voice a hot mess – I'm sorry I've dirtied you.”

Robb grinned, “What an obedient little thing.”

He slipped out and laid on the bed, then looked at Theon, glaring.

“Sit on me.”

Theon moved slowly, his legs were reduced boneless by bliss, but Robb's hard cock called him more than reason and, showing Robb his back, for him to bite into like a wolf, he sat on him, taking his whole cock inside himself again with little more than a strained, stretched whimper.

Robb kissed Theon's neck and then bit into it, fangs dragging him mad, bruises staining him purple.

“You're such a slut, Theon. - he whispered against his neck, low, hot, just for them two to hear – You can't live without my cock, can you?”

Theon let out a weak “N-no.”, loud enough to be heard, and he abandoned himself back, neck next to Robb's mouth, welcoming the marks as he did with the painfully big shaft.

Robb turned to Brienne, smiling to her softly, “Come.” he said and, in that, he took Theon's cock in his hands and started to stroke it, making Theon scream and ache and arch. 

It was still oversensitive and his tip almost hurt, almost though – and that meant it was on the verge with the purest, filthiest, rawest pleasure.

Brienne studied the position before sitting herself on Theon's cock, facing him, and started kissing his panting lips, quivering in the most overwhelmed, lecherous deluge of heat.

His ass and his dick were both taken, possessed.

Robb's cock would rut into him, lustful, voracious for his absolute demise, while Brienne moved over him, first slowly, as to drive him insane, then engulfing him more and more powerfully, with a smile raising on her big lips.

Theon screamed.

“Too tight... - he groaned, as his own hips started to move, echoing Robb's deep slams and craving Brienne's wet heat – I'm going to...”

“Not yet.”, she said and, grabbing Theon's own velvet belt from next her, she tied it to the base of his cock.

Robb chuckled low in Theon's ear.

“Oh, it looks like she's going to fuck you more than the opposite.”

“Fu...”, Theon moaned, closing his eyes.

“I can't stay behind in driving you insane, though, can I?”

“Ro-Robb, no...”, he begged, unconvincingly.

And Robb drove into his prostate. Over and over. Theon choked, screamed, cried.

He could feel the orgasms riding through his cock and then stopping before shooting, frustration and heat built up, pooling in his balls, whining for release. Desperate, pathetic, needy.

And greed washed through him as hard as a storm and he drove into Brienne harder, as if that would help in any way.

Robb's hand drew marks on his hips and Theon felt so close to fainting, he knew, had he came, he would have been fine with dying right then.

His cock pulsed, throbbed inside Brienne's tight walls.

And the harder Robb hit into him, the closer Theon was to pure madness.

“Beg us, now.”, Robb ordered.

“You grace. - he cried, his voice just melted need – Your Grace, please, let me come.”

Robb chortled, “Beg her too.”, he said, pulling Theon's hair so hard he faced her, as she rode him, a wide, unaware smile on her lips, while her wide hips dragged him through heaven and hell with every movement.

“Please, your... my lady... - he choked on his own words, feeling his cock about to burst – Please, allow me to come.”

And she glanced at him, nodding, moving her hands to the belt to untie the little knot.

Robb let out a smile, and, as the knot was undone, he looked at Brienne, commanding, “Move almost all away, leave in just the tip.”

She obeyed, though she felt her own flesh protesting, in need of him.

Theon let out a cried moan, trying to trust back into Brienne just to earn another hair pull.

Then Robb's second hand left his hips and clenched his neck.

Theon couldn't help but smirk in delight, and he tried to reply but Robb held tighter and all air escaped him, making his mind dizzy and making his neglected, red cock even more greedy for attention.

Robb was hitting again his prostate, relentlessly, ruthlessly, with every single thrust, pounding hard and smoldring into the soft flesh.

Theon rutted, screamed, fell to ruins. His nerves cried for release, his cock leaked and hurt.

A wicked smile on Robb's face, seeing Theon melt under his touch.

And Brienne just rubbed her clit against the deep, crying slit on Theon's cockhead, sending him insane.

Robb's grip on his neck grew tighter, not the tightest they tried, but he never felt so utterly needy, and the pressure, the sensation of Robb squishing him just made his ass crave him more.

Robb and Brienne were alternating rhythms, instead of moving together and Robb's trusts were fast and strong but so aimed, and Brienne just teased his tip and it all crashed into his mind and, ashamed and half-crying, he whined, bending forward. But the words came out deformed, just wanton nonsense, until Robb left his throat, letting him free to breathe.

“Please, please, you both... please... - he moaned – _Fuck me._ ”

She sheathed him back, as Robb slammed in, all rough at once.

And Theon jumped, unsure anymore where to arch himself at any of his ends, and came, screaming and moaning in the same breath as the young King spent himself into him.

And he fell back onto his chest.

The world was dizzy and alight and his cock felt raw and burnt at the same time.

Brienne slid off him, but was brought against the sheets soon by Jamie Lannister, cock hard and angered for having been left unattended, jealous, that too.

It didn't make sense. But nothing in that night did.

He would have forgotten that wench the day after, he told himself, but for then, for then alone, he needed her.

“Sit on my face.”, he said.

She raised an eyebrow, “Ask nicely, Kingslayer.”

“Jaime.”

She smiled, “Ask nicely, Jaime.”

“Ser. - he breathed out, unsure himself if he was being sarcastic or if it was just the sound of his voice, turning seriousness to jest – Please, allow your cunt on my mouth.”

She looked at him, smiled sweetly, and slapped him across the face.

The pressure made his cock jump.

“You can do better.”

“I need it. - he roared – I need it to-”

Another slap. His cheek burnt and his balls pulled.

She squeezed his dick lightly between her fingers, making him fall to ruins and turn into a mess of moaned obscenities and cursing.

Brienne let it free just to move her cunt towards Jaime, allowing him to see it, her own juices dripping, Greyjoy's come dripping from her entrance. Drinking that too... it made him feel all worse with how low he was.

She smelled like both too, her musk though was sweet, her hair thick and soft.

She sat on him and he lapped her greedily, desperately.

“Oh, look at you. - she said, her voice strained by arousal running through her – You're almost cute when you shut up.”

He looked at her as to reply but her wet lagoon swallowed his protests.

He buried himself in her soft heat and his nose smelled the powerful scent of her hair.

His cock stirred harder than ever as his tongue skimmed and licked her brackish honey, devouring her shivers, the pleasure falling from her. 

Her strong thighs pressed his head and Jaime found himself more and more aroused the less she acted like a woman, a maiden, a queen.

She was rough, she tasted so.

But her voice, as it rose to the ceiling, was the sweetest all the same.

Jaime moaned inside her, sucking her hard, as he felt his ass welcoming two fingers and covering him with oil.

He recognized that familiar feeling, those long, boney fingers.

His tongue jolted inside Brienne, as he tried to call for Theon.

The girth of the ironborn cock burned through him and Jaime's sucking got more and more desperate, while Brienne started moving her hips, rubbing against his top lip and nose, letting his tongue torment her wall to consumed despair.

Theon's cock pulled him, filled him and for a moment Jaime was sure he would have tore, that was, until the King in the North himself spit on his dick and started jerking him, while making out with his lover.

Robb sank his tongue into Theon's throat, invading him, tasting him, voracious – eager, bruising his swollen lips, while Theon moved inside Jaime, quicker, needier, fucking him fast and rough.

Jaime's hand crawled and it clenched the sheet until the knuckles got white.

Brienne's agonizing writhing turned to pure shivers as she found it harder and harder to lead and Jaime's other hand went to her hip, keeping her up, until she bucked, spasming and came in violent swivels of delight.

Jaime licked her still, though the afterglow made her so sensitive she gasped, not stopping, lapping her, cleaning her faithfully, while Theon raised his legs slightly, forcing all of himself in and hitting all of Jaime's buttons at once. He felt taken over, destroyed and rebuild by pleasure.

The sweet, mysterious spot of last time was still there, waiting for Theon to drill and slam into it, malicious and mellifluous. 

He hit it more and more, perverse, taking pleasure in how Jaime twisted and twitched, and buried his seed deep into him.

“You milk my cock so well, Lannister. - he smirked, smug – You swallow my load as if it were gold, you damn whore.”

Jaime screamed, smiling, overwhelmed: Stark was jerking him, Greyjoy fucking him and the no longer maid of Tarth? He opened his eyes to find her, as she lowered herself on his nipples and started to kiss them and suck them, slowly, then nibbling, probably as the pirate prince did to her.

Jaime felt his hips twitch and squirm.

Nobody, even Cersei, touched him that way and, somehow, the heat from there felt so powerful.

So intense.

He moaned and Theon banged harder into his prostate.

“Do you like your tits sucked, Lannister?”, he mocked.

Brienne sucked harder, bit, and Jaime gasped, while Robb Stark slowed down his rhythm on his shaft to torment his slit, wetted in precome.

Theon grinned, wicked, “Let's see if you come before from your tits or from your cunt.”

He pushed harder, but words, words were doing most of it – the humiliation that burnt through his skin, riding his face, and feeling so open and raw and Theon driving into him.

Robb Stark slapped Jaime's cock hard.

Harder.

It burnt so good.

A suck, a push, a slap. Another. Another.

And Jaime splurt then, screaming, breathlessly mute, staining his own stomach, while droplets fell on Brienne's face and Robb's hand.

Theon grinned and fell on his side, grabbing Robb Stark by the neck and kissing him madly.

The not maid of Tarth was panting, resting above his chest, her own shaking.

Jaime moved a hand closer to her waist and pulled her in, caressing her skin.

He noticed only then the sheets were blue.

_They suit her eyes_ , he thought, queerly.

 

*

 

Theon smiled, kissing Robb deeply, while snuggling between the furs. Lighter furs than the ones they had in Winterfell, but furs nonetheless.

Winter was coming also there in Riverrun.

And it was probably going to be long. But they were together, at almost the end of a war, and Theon couldn't have asked for more.

Robb smiled.

His hair and beard grew way beyond his shoulders, and he looked more and more like a Tully every day. Theon found it pretty.

Wolf or trout, he was the softest furnace in the kingdom and his skin was all for him.

He yawned.

“Sleepy?”, Robb asked, with a smile.

“You didn't let me sleep well last night.”

“We had to celebrate the treaty. - he said, all proud as he should be – And you were too beautiful.”

“I'm always too beautiful.”, Theon pointed out.

Robb found himself nodding, weighting the words.

“Well-spoken, lord Greyjoy.”

Theon smiled bitterly, drawing curls on Robb's soft, hairy chest, “Lord of Nothing.”

Robb swallowed, dry.

“... I may have another plan.”

And looked at him.

Theon understood what he had meant quickly, though not believing, he blinked, surprised, “...you can't mean it.”

Robb shrugged, slowly, staring at Theon, enchanted and terrified – he couldn't lose him.

“You'd stay in Winterfell with me.”

Theon bit his lip, hurt still, and let out a derisive, “To see you and Roslin Frey?”

“I'll tell her. - he said, bluntly, grabbing Theon close – You're not negotiable.”

Theon's eyes shone and he held Robb closer.

“A word? - he whispered, warmly, obscene – Your Grace.”

Robb rolled his eyes to the ceiling, smiling.

“You don't have to call me Your Grace when no one's around and we're not fucking.”

Theon's smirk grew winder.

“I know, Your Grace.”

He then caught Robb's mouth in his own, dragging him into a kiss, while his hips moved atop of Robb's groin.

 

 


End file.
